


Only a Memory

by TimmyJaybird



Series: You Could be My Sanctuary [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick wants him, but he cannot let Jason see that he <i>needs</i> him. If he did, he's sure Jason would lock his window at night, and the man would become nothing more than a memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> It was suggested that I write a little companion piece to "Nicotine", so we can see Dick's perspective. I'm kinda shocked it came out so fast.  
> I'm really considering one more fic in this little series. Maybe a happy ending. I'll continue to give it some thought :)

_I can't help but close my eyes for life, and dream a different ending. That when I wake, I won't be so exhausted- and I will stop with my pretending. That I'm fine, I'm fine if I can fool myself tonight, and my lie will drown out all of yours._

Dick had waited in the rain for ten minutes for Jason to shoe up, to sit in the window and light up his cigarette. He knows Jason sees him, but those eyes avert to the Gotham skyline until half the cigarette is gone, and he’s ready. Dick is soaked, he’s fighting off shivers beneath his suit, but he can’t show that. Not here, not to Jason. There’s a moment of eye contact, then Jason looks away, takes one long, heavy drag, and flicks the cigarette into the dark. The window is empty then, and Dick has his choice-

He can make his way up for another night of empty hope, or he can turn his back and hate himself in the morning for passing up the only person in the whole city who can drag the lifeless lead core form his gut and melt it with his heat, turn it to metal for his blood, for his bones, to keep him steady until morning comes. Dick closed his eyes for one second, considers the countless ending each night with Jason could hold, yet they never change. They’re almost mathematical, there’s two options- he leaves into the dead of night when they’re done, or he catches a few hours of blissful sleep and has to face the day in shame. There are no other options.

Dick makes the quick ascension, and he’s inside the apartment, shaking the freezing rainwater from his hair. He does it because he knows Jason’s fingers will lace in those dark locks, and he doesn’t want them to freeze. He wants this to be comfortable for Jason as possible, so that that window stays open another night. So Dick can come back to this little lie he’s created in his head, where Jason someday will give him a little sign that he _cares_

_I will not bend until I break, how much can one bruised body take? Just not enough to silence me, you're only a memory. I'll scream these words 'til they come true, then I will think no more of you. Look back on what I'm going through, this isn't my identity._  
Dick pushes him against the wall, sinks his gloved hand into Jason’s hair, kisses him the way he’d always dreamed of kissing him. He tilts his head back so he can delve deep, taste his tongue and the whimpers in his throat, and his chest aches for the boy who had tried to _become_ him, become Robin in a troubled city where a cape and a mask mean a death certificate with your name on it. He aches because he wants to save Jason, because he can’t stand the thought of losing him. He tastes nicotine and smoke and he only wants more, wants to worship the scarred body that the gods gave back to him.

He forces himself to stop, pulls Jason from against the wall, leading him to the bedroom. It’s only proper, he can’t contain himself but he wants Jason to be happy, to be comfortable- that’s all he wants. As much as this is for him, he wants it to be for Jason, too

He strips of his suit and gadgets with help, loving those calloused fingertips on his scarred skin. He pulls Jason into an embrace, fitting into the curve of his spine and holding him, one moment of weakness, of affection that Dick cannot contain. He leans down, kisses the back of Jason’s neck, wants to murmur all the words locked in his chest into that skin, nips at it and tastes his salt to keep the words inside. He wants Jason, and he uses it as a distraction to everything else, to keep him from noticing the quivering in his arms as he wishes he could pull Jason back into his chest and keep him in his rib cage.

_You will bleed for what your hands have done, you can't outrun your ending. And I'll get well long before you let yourself. I may forgive you, but you never will. I will not bend until I break, how much can one bruised body take? Just not enough to silence me, you're only a memory. I'll scream these words 'til they come true, then I will think no more of you. Look back on what I'm going through, this isn't my identity._

Dick shoves Jason onto the bed, swallows down that part of him that wants this to be sweet. Jason doesn’t crave sweet, he craves a man who is _alive_ , and Dick has to become that. He nips and licks at skin and tells himself not to think of that boy, of the child inside Jason he wants to hold- but he cannot think of the man below him, either. The man he wants to explore much more slowly, the man he wants to worship- but that would give him away. And Dick cannot risk Jason knowing what lurks in his chest, cannot risk him closing that window.

He is careful with Jason’s body, careful to push only when ready, to lick skin and let him adjust. He wants to do so much more, but he cannot, he can only settle on being a _thoughtful_ lover. No matter the lie he holds up, though, he will not be cruel. He will not bruises Jason in ways that the man would not enjoy. Dick would bleed before he hurt Jason, especially here, when all he wants is for the man to forget everything for one night- forget the family, the crowbar, the pains of death and rebirth. Forget it all, slip into a new memory.

Dick knows Jason has demons, but he forgives him for them. He’d embrace them if he could, swallow them so that Jason can breathe finally. He’s not sure Jason will ever forgive them, though- or that he’d be willing to open up in such a way that Dick is inside his ribs, his memories, the core of his being.

_And I told you, I told you, you had no right- how damaged you must be. Watch you panic, it's tragic, you'll carry this for life. You have my sympathy._

Dick has Jason on his stomach because he cannot handle those lightning blue eyes. And while his body appreciates the way it makes Jason seem unbelievable tight around him, his heart clutches in on itself. Jason pushes back against him, and Dick knows he likes it like this- Dick could be anyone then, whoever dwells in the recesses of his mind. Dick sets a rhythm, one that Jason groans for, and bites back the cry in his throat. He can’t show Jason who good this is- that no one feels like him, moves like him, there is no one in this city Dick would rather spend a night with.

For a minute Dick thinks he has himself under control, that they can go the whole act like this, but his ribs are constricting on him suddenly, and he needs to _see_ Jason. He pulls out, flips him over, prays to the unseeing gods of the city that Jason will forgive him, and pushes back inside. He lays against him, cannot help but touch Jason’s hair, brush the nearly white tufts in the front from his forehead. He presses their foreheads together, can smell smoke on Jason’s breath, and cannot handle it. He kisses him, sweetly, softly, pushing the passion from his ribs and belly up into Jason’s mouth, begins to murmur words that string together as sounds, words that he dredges up from some trench inside his racing heart. He doesn’t want to say them, doesn’t want to risk damaging Jason, but they come regardless and he prays that Jason cannot understand.

_I will not bend until I break, how much can one bruised body take? Just not enough to silence me, you're only a memory. I'll scream these words 'til they come true, then I will think no more of you. Look back on what I'm going through, this isn't my identity._

Jason threw his arms around his shoulders as they peaked, holding Dick so close he can barely breathe. Their eyes lock, and Dick cannot understand what lies behind those baby blues, there is turmoil and lust and a sort of resignation, and he wants to dive in and swim until his breath is gone, until their secrets spill into the crevices of his brain. He tips his head back at the last second, eyes rolling into his head, and Dick is happy at least that Jason’s bruised body fins such release in him. He dips his head down, mouths, “Jaybird” into his skin because he wants to remind himself this _is_ Jason, and this is real.

So many times, Dick isn’t sure if it really is reality, if it happened at all, or if he dreamed up the whole thing.

They lay sweaty and entangled for a minute, before Dick rolls of Jason, knows he will want his space. Jason rolls onto his side, facing away, and Dick doesn’t blame him for not wanting to face him now. Slowly, Jason is getting sick of him, he if sure, and he clings to these few moments he has left with him before he is no longer welcome.

He reaches for him, traces his spine, whispers his name because he desperately wants Jason to look at him, to forgive him, to make this a reality. He doesn’t want to be forgotten. Jason finally rolls over, and Dick wraps his arms around him, holding him close, entwining their legs together until they are one mass, one being.

Jason rests his forehead against Dick’s chest, a single act of resignation that this happened with _this_ man, and Dick feels a crushing weight on his lungs.

_You're only a memory, this isn't my identity. You're only a memory- This isn't my identity (I will not bend). You're only a memory (I will not break)- This isn't my identity (I will not bend). You're only a memory (I will not break)- This isn't my identity._

Dick slips into sleep, he cannot help it. Jason calms him, as much as he excites him, as much as he breaks him. He is not gone long, but when he wake sup he is alone in bed. He sighs, rolls over and presses his face into Jason’s pillow, smells his smokey scent, cologne and the city and that hint of cigarettes that was never bad on him. He steels himself in that scent, then leaves the bed, walks out into the hallway and towards Jason, by the open window, cigarette in hand.

He wants to gather him up in his arms, to carry him back to bed and _make love to him_ the way he’s always wanted, the way he’s not allowed to. Instead he presses his hand against his lower back, places a soft kiss to the back of his neck, tries to coax him back to bed. When Jason barely moves he thinks he’s done something wrong, and forces his mouth to form the words.

Jason is avoiding his gaze, he can see it. “Nothing,” he says, and Dick asks him again to come back to bed. He’s exhausted, and he sleeps better with Jason curled up against him. Jason’s eyes quiver at those words, something is there in them and Dick cannot tell what, but he’s afraid it’s not something he’d want to see. “What about your precious city?”

It felt like there was venom there, and Dick lowers his head slightly. “It will be there in the morning,” Dick says, giving him a fake smile- the kind he has perfected, the kind he has used around Jason when he fears his rue smile will only give away the affection in his chest. Jason takes one more drag, then tosses his cigarette out the window.

“You’re worse than nicotine,” he said, and Dick pulls the window shut to keep the rain from coming in. He takes Jason’s hand and leads him back to bed, wishing for a moment he could be inside that head, just to know how badly he has given himself away tonight. How badly his facade and bent and broke, how much of his love Jason has seen.

He’s terrified of Jason becoming a memory.


End file.
